


mute (scream)

by deanssammy (babylxxrry)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John is mentioned, Pre-Canon, or specifically, the timeline/setting is pretty ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 19:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/deanssammy
Summary: sam wants to scream





	mute (scream)

**Author's Note:**

> found this sitting in my fic doc, realized i initially deleted it because of personal reasons, also realized that i want to repost it now. thanks for putting up with me.

Sam’s not physically mute, no he’s never had to deal with that, but right now, he finds himself lacking words. He can’t put his thoughts into words, he can’t transfer his observations or connections or _anything_ into words. He just… can’t. And he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he can’t speak, why he can’t put it all into words when he knows as well as anyone else that that’s the best way of fixing it all.

If he could just put it into words, he could get it out and destroy it. If he could just stop being “in a mood”, if he could just suck it up and get it done, if he could just be better at his life than he has any right to be, if he could just be more, be enough, not be the weak link, not be the failure, the burden, the broken one and the breaker at the same time. If he could just stop for a moment and vomit up all the things he’s been trying to keep locked up in his chest for too long, if he could make his brain cooperate with his mouth, if he could just verbalize what this thing, maybe he’d be okay. Maybe he would be able to function again.

“Learn to suck it up, Sam.”

“You can choose to be in a good mood, Sam, your choosing to be miserable is making everyone else’s life harder.”

Dad’s not making his life easier.

Fuck.

Fuck. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know how to say what’s bothering him. He wants to, but he can’t. Because he doesn’t even know what it is, why it is, why him, why now, anything. He doesn’t know why or who or what or when or where or how and it’s so fucking frustrating because he _wants_ to say something, but he can’t because he doesn’t have words for this, he doesn’t have words for why his mouth refuses to cooperate with his mind, for the throbbing pain in his chest when he tries to put it into words because it’s like he knows what he wants to say, but there aren’t any words that exist to describe it, and he wants to scream but he can’t.

Sam’s honestly just fucking tired. He wants to sleep forever and more, he wants to stop time so he can try and fit his entire life into the meagre hours he has on this earth, he wants to die, he wants to live, he doesn’t even know what he wants to do right now. He’s just…. he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, he doesn’t know the words for what he’s feeling, he doesn’t know why he’s feeling it, why he can’t say it, why anything.

_Suck it up, Sammy. Be a man. Stop being a burden._

So Sam shuts up. Gives up. Plasters on a smile. Rinse, repeat.

 

 

//


End file.
